


Three Gods in an Underworld

by ViaLethe



Series: 3 Sentence Ficathon 2021 [10]
Category: Ancient Greek Religion & Lore
Genre: 3 Sentence Ficathon, 3 Sentence Fiction, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Canonical Character Death, F/M, Gen, Mild Smut, Revenge, Trojan War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-12 01:34:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29877102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ViaLethe/pseuds/ViaLethe
Summary: A collection of 3 sentence Greek Mythology-based ficlets.1)Hestia hears her niece, whatever home she may be praying from.2)Persephone's springtime is never as easy as she wishes.3)Persephone burns Hades every time he touches her, but he keeps coming back for more.4)Cassandra knows Aeneas, though she wishes otherwise.5)The sun shows Cassandra everything she can never have.6)Cassandra haunts him still.7)Apollo learns a harsh lesson in making his lovers disposable.8)An ancient Siren meets a modern one in the English Channel of WWII.
Relationships: Aeneas/Cassandra (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Demeter & Persephone (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Hades/Persephone (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Hestia & Persephone (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore)
Series: 3 Sentence Ficathon 2021 [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2191875
Kudos: 13





	1. Three for Persephone

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2021 3 Sentence Ficathon on DW. Original prompts are included.

_  
**Prompt: Greek mythology, Hestia, stories told by the fire**  
_

_We Wake Up and It’s Snowing_

In the underworld, Persephone whispers to the flame, fitful, flickering, a bare thread coaxed from a spark with her own breath - prayers to her aunt, love to her mother, her desire to see the light again.

And her desire, barely controlled, barely admitted, leashed tight to her breast, to remain.

On the surface, Hestia hears, and grieves for her sister, for the splitting of one household; rejoices for her niece, and the formation of a new home, and tends her own hearth with care, with herbs and hopes and incantations, with love for them all.

_  
**Prompt: Greek mythology, Demeter, Persephone, spring overcoming the death of winter**  
_

_In the Garden I Have Done No Crime_

It is always this way when she returns, always this welter of bones and bare branches, of cold soil and chilled winds, of frozen, arrested decay all around her as winter dies.

“Why do you do this, mama,” she sighs, raising Demeter from the cold ground where she lays, “when you know I’ll always come back.”

Her mother does not speak (she never does, this early in spring), but the clouds recede from her eyes, and she smiles at Persephone so sweetly; around her toes, new life begins to sprout, roots wending ever down, towards the roof of the Underworld.

_  
**Prompt: Greek Mythology, Hades/Persephone, Heat cannot be separated from fire, or beauty from The Eternal.**  
_

_As the Night Wakes the Dawn_

She burns him, each time he touches her; heat singeing his skin, scorching it black even as it heals in the same instant, over and again, every time his hands meet the gold of her skin, every time his lips brush the flame-red of her hair on a tight gasp, for even a god feels pain.

“Did you expect it not to hurt, my lord?” she murmurs against his skin, her lips leaving a trail of smoldering agony across his collarbone, down his chest, heat burning lower and lower until he stops her, branding his hands on her arms, her face, her breasts.

When he sinks into her with a hiss, every muscle in his body tight with the sear, she laughs, her voice smoke as she takes his face between her palms, as she wraps her legs tight around his back, as she whispers into the blackening shell of his ear, “This, my love, is eternal,” until he burns down to ash within her, and sparks again.


	2. Three for Troy

**_Prompt: Greek Mythology, Cassandra/Aeneas, Don't treat me like/Some situation that needs to be handled/I'm fine with my spite_ **

_It Cut Deep to Know You_

She _knows_ , when he looks at her sidelong, when he studies the contours of her face, the wild spark in her eye, the tousled state of her hair.

When the others look at her this way, in this state, sun-touched and brilliant with it, she knows the fear they feel, knows it like the salt air breathed into her lungs; but with him -

“Don’t,” she breathes out, just before his fingers can brush through her hair, seeing in his face a safe harbor; knowing it for just one more cruel trick.

  


  
**_Prompt: Greek Mythology, Cassandra/Aeneas, The mind is not a vessel to be filled but a fire to be kindled._ **

_Drunk on the Dying Light_

Sometimes, when the sun is at its most cruel, it is all hers to see, sparked and burning through her mind -

\- His mouth, curved in sweet pleasure for her, his hands - those warrior’s hands, that she has watched kill, so many times to come - ever gentle on her body; the son she would bear him, their flight from Troy before the fires can begin; the sea salt in her hair and his hands at her back; a new world, a new start, a new people who think of her not as crazy, not as blighted, but as _beloved_ \- 

But it is the sun speaking, and she knows better than to believe, better than to hope - better than to tie him to her failing star.

  


**  
_Prompt: Greek Mythology, Cassandra/Aeneas, Past the blood and bruise/Past the curses and cries/Beyond the terror in the nightfall/Haunted by the look in my eyes_ **

_Would Have Loved You for a Lifetime_

Long before she dies (one more broken girl in a welter of blood he could not save), she haunts him.

Her eyes haunt him, and what they see; the girlish wisp of her figure, the slant of her smile, as though she knows all his thoughts, exact and true; the curl of her hair and the silken feel of it when he is so bold as to touch; the way her breath quickens when he draws near, her refusal to duck her head when he studies her mouth, to be shy; her rare laughter, dancing just for him.

And yet - and yet; she is what she is, and will never be otherwise - even Hektor, who loves her so dearly, shakes his head and says, “I have other sisters, cousin, better suited to being a wife,” - and yet, always his dreams will fill and overflow with her; always he will wonder what her eyes saw when she looked upon his - and why he had never asked.


	3. Three for Olympus

**_Prompt: Greek Myth, Apollo, just deserts_ **

_You Left Me Here to Die_

Daphne, he loses, and laurel wreaths mock him ever after; _tell me, what is it that you have won, in truth?_ her voice says in his head, each time his finger brush their delicate leaves, each time he lifts them reverently, like a lover.

Cassandra, he loses, and curses in the bargain; in the dark of night she speaks to him, this sun-mad girl, her words rising to his ears on scent and smoke, telling him that someday, even gods will die; even the sun will burn itself out - and he, among all the creatures of the world, believes her.

Hyacinthus, he loses, through no fault of his own; when he rages at his blustery cousin Zephyrus, the bloody discus still in his white knuckled hand, demanding to know _why_ , Zephyrus shrugs, and looks upon him with disdain, and says, “I have seen how your lovers are treated, what becomes of them in your light - he is better off dead, and free of you,” leaving Apollo alone, bathed in cold, wrathful light.

  


**_Prompt: Mythology, sirens, ancient mythological siren experiencing the modern mechanical version for the first time_ **

_Lost in the Flood_

The first time she hears it, in the choppy grey waters of the Channel, it is terrible, a droning, cresting wail against her ears, its moaned call splitting the air like some great beast awakening, mournful and frightened.

But this is her way, and that of her sisters - head cocked, she listens, and hears, and sings along; slow at first, patchy, breathy, then gaining in power as she catches the ceaseless rhythm, her harmonies weaving a tapestry around her, so she scarce notices the buzzing counterpoints overhead, the bits of metal in the sky she pays no mind to, nor the distant percussive touches, fires blossoming in the land above.

And then - it ceases, dying with an abruptness that leaves her bereft, voice strangled in her throat; she shudders, and slips beneath the waves, and leaves it behind, this endless warning call; such a thing is not in her nature, anyhow.


End file.
